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She sends me esoteric Happy meals that include:

Fried mushrooms of dubious origin
cookies with fortunes wrapped around the outside
and little poems written on napkins
like:

I'm sliding down your banister, again
All the way to the floor
where you'll Spin me
around and around

When I ask her what they mean,
She blows a straw wrapper across the table
And laughs

"They don't mean anything."

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